The Past Returns
In his actions, Garlan was nothing like his father. He wasted no time with questions, and immediately called his men into the mansion. Ser Alyn was set to retrieve Lady Margaery. Knights secured the solar, taking the place of the guards. Squires were dispatched with messages for Lady Olenna, and Lord Mace. Garlan, himself, walked out to alert his mother. Alerie dismissed her ladies-in-waiting and other servants, allowing only a few truly loyal retainers to remain. Among them were Lomys and Lord Fossoway.
Owen marshalled his thoughts as he waited for the Tyrells to assemble. Mace was the last to arrive and sat far away from everyone else. The Lord of Highgarden truly smelled like a flower, drenched in rose water and lavender.
"Garlan, I am sorry for your loss - but is it safe for us to gather?" Mace asked nervously.
"Leonette has not died. She fell ill this morning." Garlan said.
"We have taken precautions, Lord Tyrell. Not all plagues pass that easily." Maester Lomys said.
"But how do you know? I have heard the plague can be caught by merely looking at a man." Mace squeaked.
The Lord of Highgarden asked a very good question. No one understood how disease was spread. Owen doubted the miasma explanation but Archmaester Ebrose, despite his studies of the human body, struggled to find one better.
"Garlan would not ask unless it was important." Alerie said.
"It is, Mother. No one can speak about this to outsiders. The Lannisters must not know."
"What is the secret?" Olenna asked, her curiosity piqued.
"I sent a raven to Jon Snow, asking him to come South and treat Leonette. It is the best chance for my sister and her unborn child." Owen said.
"JON SNOW?" Alerie said.
"Why would he come?" Olenna asked sharply.
"Of course he won't. The boy would be mad to return to King's Landing and face my wrath. He will not escape me a second time." Mace cried, forgetting that he had only ranted and gawked the last time the Tyrells met Jon Snow.
"Be quiet, Mace. Why would he come?" Olenna asked again.
"A sister for a sister. Jon gave me his word in the Riverlands that he would grant a favor - so long as it did not harm the Starks. He will honor my request."
Margaery turned white. "The Wildfire Wedding. You helped the Starks take away Lady Sansa from King's Landing."
Mace sputtered, his round jowly face a picture of confusion and anger "What? How could you - that is treason. You risked our lives, Fossoway!"
"It is quite possible I saved your life, and many others in the Red Keep." Owen retorted.
"Stop. Explain exactly what happened. Do not leave anything out." Olenna said.
"After the Battle of the God's Eye, I went to the Riverlands to arrange a ransom for the prisoners. News spread among the Northmen that the Lannisters planned to wed Tyrion to Sansa Stark. Jon asked me if I would help spirit his sister away from King's Landing. I agreed, but only if he promised not to harm any Tyrells or other Reachmen. For that, he granted a favor to be redeemed in the future. He kept his word then, and I am sure he will keep his word now."
"What did you do? Did you help Snow take Margaery or provide him with wildfire?" Olenna said.
"I was not involved with any of that. I knew nothing about wildfire. Jon did not share any plans with me. I only acted as his eyes and ears and told him the wedding details. Whether I helped or not, he was determined to rescue Sansa Stark. If I didn't agree, Snow would have gone to King's Landing anyway. Then he might not give a damn about how many people would die."
"Owen is right. After Snow took me away, he said that he promised not to harm me. He used wildfire for the Iron Throne. He could have easily burnt down the great hall." Everyone knew that if that happened, Margaery would have died along with her brothers, and many, many others.
"We can't ask the North for help. The Lannisters - what will they say? Lord Tywin will not stand for this." Mace Tyrell stammered.
"Fuck Lord Tywin. This is my wife and my child." Garlan glared at his father. "Your grandchild. The first of the next generation."
"Perhaps, perhaps… no one else needs to know. Ask Snow to meet outside the city. Garlan can take Leonette somewhere, escorted by loyal knights. They can meet in secret." Alerie said.
The Queen of Thorns shook her head. "Something like this does not stay secret for long. We might have a few days, or with luck, a week or two. But if Jon Snow comes South to cure the plague, everyone will find out. And if he succeeds…... Can he cure the plague?"
"No one can stop a raging pestilence, my Lady. Mountebanks sell useless potions and priests pray to deaf gods but the plague is undefeated. That has been true for all the years of Aegon's Conquest. Does Jon Snow even have a silver link?" Lomys said.
"He forged no links at the Citadel because he was too young. Jon has no steel link in smithing or iron link in warcraft. Ask the Lannisters or the Freys whether that mattered."
"I grant you that the boy is clever. I have corresponded with my colleagues in Oldtown. They say that Snow has a sharp mind, a strong will and a hunger for knowledge. But will that be enough? The healers of the Citadel are the best in the Seven Kingdoms and they are helpless before the plague. Many maesters have tried their hand at a cure. All failed." Lomys said.
"Owen - how can Snow succeed when so many others have failed?" Margaery asked.
"Jon is not like others. He will do things that other maesters would not consider. I saw that at the Citadel. The Lannisters found that out in the war. You witnessed his actions at the Red Keep. No one can guarantee success. The plague is a deadly riddle, one that has remained unsolved. But there is a chance for Leonette. If anyone can cure this disease, Snow can."
"There are a great deal of ifs here. If Snow comes South. If the Lannisters don't hunt him down. If Leonette survives until Snow can see her. If he can cure the plague. If that cure does not affect the baby. This is a terribly uncertain path." Olenna complained.
"Jon will come. He gave me his word."
"I believe he will, Grandmother." Margaery said. "The North takes oaths very seriously. House Stark is known for their honor."
Olenna sighed. "Yes, Ned Stark loved his honor. It got him killed. Say that Jon Snow comes South, despite all good sense, knowing that the Iron Throne would give anything to kill him. How do we deal with that?"
"I will defend him." Garlan announced. "If Snow tries to save Leonette, that is enough for me. The Lannisters can go to the Seven Hells."
"I can do no less." Lord Jon added. "House Fossoway will not abandon a daughter or my goodson. Although I wish you had told me about this earlier."
"Yes." Margaery glared at Owen. "I do not fault you for agreeing to rescue Sansa. But it would have helped greatly, had we known about your agreement with Snow even after the wedding."
"I don't see how, your grace. There was no reason to mention my bargain. I never expected to invoke this debt - not this soon, at least. I hoped to redeem the favor in happier times."
"King Joffrey will never forgive us. And Lord Tywin. And.." Mace said.
"The crown needs gold, food and swords. The Throne needs the Tyrells. Joffrey will be difficult but he can be managed. I doubt the Hand wants to break this alliance. Garlan, do you realize the risks? The Lannisters will send men to hunt Snow down." Margaery said briskly.
"I do. But I will not let my wife die if there is a chance. What if Snow can truly cure the plague? How many lives would that save in Oldtown or the Reach?"
Margaery nodded. "Not just in the Reach, but also in King's Landing. Leonette is dear to us all, and so is the child. We must stand together."
"Let us hope that we don't die together. Half a year ago, Snow threatened to cut off our men's hands, feet, noses and cocks. And now, we need the bastard." Olenna said sourly. The Queen of Thorns was famous for her sharp tongue, but she also loved her family.
The next morning, Owen and his goodbrother made their way through the empty streets to House Martell. It had not been easy but he finally convinced Garlan that Leonette was best left to the care of Maester Lomys, Lady Alerie, and Margaery's ladies in waiting. Garlan's presence by her side would do little good, and he was needed to make preparations.
The mansion was quiet. The guards were concealed behind the spiked stone walls and near the stable. In the windows of the house, Owen could see the glint of steel - perhaps the points of spears or the tips of crossbow bolts. A cool breeze blew through the fruit trees. A high sweet voice sang Autumn of My Day accompanied by a woodharp. It was a sad melody, and when the servants brought them to the courtyard, the music abruptly died.
Alleras sat by the stone fountain with a beautiful and nubile Summer Islander, instructing her on how to write letters in a small book. Her sisters, bellicose Obara and innocent looking Tyene, ate breakfast at the table while their father fed his paramour Ellaria slices of blood red oranges.
"Ser Garlan, to what do we owe your visit?" Oberyn asked, languidly.
"I brought him here." Owen said. "I was not entirely truthful yesterday. There is something more I can do for Lady Nym."
The prince turned fierce black eyes to the guests, as slender fingers played with a wickedly sharp knife. "And what is that? Speak now."
"I sent a raven last night to Winterfell, asking Jon Snow to come South to treat the plague."
"You think Snow will come to King's Landing? Despite the dangers?" Oberyn asked.
Owen nodded. "Yes, he will. I am sure of it."
"And why have you asked him?" Alleras said.
"My wife and Owen's sister, Leonette, fell ill. She carries our first child." Garlan said.
"My condolences. My daughter, Nymeria, caught the plague ten days ago." Oberyn said, before turning to Owen. "How will Snow treat the disease? Can he cure Nymeria?"
"I don't know. But I am certain he will try."
"We need to help him." Alleras said. "Jon can not do this on his own."
"What would you advise?"
"Any Healer needs a safe place to work. Tools, herbs, assistants, servants who can take care of patients. Guards too. He cannot fight off the Lannisters while he is curing the plague." Alleras said.
"I will guard him. My men as well." Garlan said.
"And your family? Won't they object given the alliance with the Lannisters?" Oberyn asked.
"My family has the plague. And I will be damned if I don't try to save them."
"Well said. But even if he leaves Winterfell now, it would take a fortnight for Snow to arrive in King's Landing. By then, your lady may be dead." Oberyn took out a fist sized root that had a strange forked shape, looking almost like two legs. Thin whip-like tendrils sported from the legs. "This is a rare herb smuggled out of YiTi. On the shores of the Jade Sea, they call this the Breath of Life. If you brought a piece this large to the Peacock Court, the Azure Emperor would give you a thousand pieces of gold or hang you for a thief."
"What does it do?" Garlan asked dubiously.
"It cools the blood. It cannot cure the plague but it keeps the patient alive. Brew a slice in a clay pot and have her drink one cup a day. But there is a drawback." Oberyn said. "In Yiti, the Goddess of Birth decreed that a mother who wishes to bear a child cannot use the Breath of Life. When the babe is ready to be born, your wife must stop."
"So Leonette has one month." Owen said.
"Death is not easily cheated. The plague has killed everywhere in the Known World. Yiti, Ghis, the Valyrian Freehold, Essos, the Seven Kingdoms. And it did so quite quickly. A month is far more time than most receive."
"Thank you, Prince Oberyn. I pray to the gods that it will be enough." Garlan said.
Robb woke up to snow falling softly outside his window. Last night's storm had almost ended, leaving the tops of the towers dusted with white and the ground buried under a thick blanket. In the courtyard, the wind had blown the snow against the walls into towering drifts, tall as a warhorse. He reached his hand out to catch a few flakes. The air was crisp but not cold, at least not for a Northman. The long summer was over, but winter came only when the white winds howled from the Wall. Robb had never experienced a true winter.
He dressed quickly, in furs and leathers, with a dark cloak over a gray tunic. Robb strapped on a sword and dagger, and walked past the guest house to the ancient Godswood. The courtyard was quiet with the castle still asleep. In contrast, the Godswood was alive with sound, smell and color. Snow shrikes trilled as they took shelter under giant oaks and soldier pines. The dire wolves rested here too, sleeping off their nocturnal hunts. Robb breathed in the snow, the moss, the heated pools and the trees. The smells brought back the memory of his father.
His father had often sat under the weirwood heart tree, cleaning Ice in the pool of black water. Robb knelt and prayed to the old gods under the bright red leaves and the somber face. When he was a boy, Robb had happy dreams of becoming Lord of Winterfell. Now he understood why his father came here to brood and think. To rule a land so large as the North was no easy thing.
Bran claimed that the coming winter would be long and dark. The crops grown at Goldenfields would help, and mountains of feed and fodder were set aside so that the horses, chicken, sheep and cattle would survive. The Winter Town boys even constructed storehouses to better house grain and dried meat. Other problems might arise but the threat of starvation was off the table unless the next winter lasted longer than the Long Summer. Then all bets were off.
The snow had finally stopped. The leaves rustled, the wind sighed, and Robb made one final prayer that both the smallfolk and the highborn would fare well in the days to come. He went to find his brother Jon.
The library tower was warm and bustling with little birds and the Winter Town crew, a mix of both young boys and girls. They treated Robb with respect but no awe, too busy with projects and instructions for pageantry or pomp. That was how his brother preferred his workers - curious, energetic, and active. They charred barrels, distilled liquor, bent iron, spun thread, read books, sat through lessons, and made themselves useful.
He found his brother on the top floor, surrounded by a few disciples. Jon had been working for the past week on glass. Bottles, beads, cups, bowls, stained panels littered the long wooden table. His brother waved him over, holding a large gray rock with white and gray streaks.
"We figured it out, Robb. Pyrolusite. Mixed with molten glass, it takes away the green and brown tints so the end product is clear." Jon said happily.
"How did we find the rock?"
"House Wull. Big Bucket Wull sent buckets and buckets of rocks from the northern mountains. I replied with a raven, saying I would send the clans glass bottles filled with whiskey."
The Wulls, Liddles, Flints, and Norreys would appreciate the whiskey more than the glass, Robb thought. Still, he was glad that the quarrelsome clans were pleased with Winterfell. The mountain men loved strong drink, and clamored eagerly for a distillery of their own. "What are these, Jon?" Sheets of clear glass were stacked together on wooden frames but the size ranged from giant panes to squares smaller than a palm.
"I have been playing with sizes and shapes. There is far more that can be done with glass than to drink wine."
"These panes would make beautiful stained windows." The large sheets were clear but a pile of colored beads and cups showed the range of possibilities. Robb held up a large vase with rich blue, green, and orange colors. A layer of gold and silver sparkles were inlaid inside the glass itself. Other cups were enameled, striped, frosted, or even decorated with flowers. Robb had never been to Myr, but he was certain that in a few years, the lenscrafters and glassmakers in the North would match even the best craftsmen of the Free Cities.
"The small pieces of glass are far harder and more interesting. The Valyrian Freehold knew how to add colors a thousand years ago to their mosaics."
"Maester." Chett turned away from the window. "It has stopped snowing."
"Excellent. Gather all the children and Wintertown boys. Lord Stark will lead the way." Jon said.
The Great Hall was heavy with the smell of roasted meats. Venison rubbed with the zest of lemons, limes and oranges, hens stuffed with bacon, bread and onions, racks of lamb basted in butter and huge auroch ribs turned on spits over the fires. The smoky aroma overpowered everything but the fresh baked bread made of wheat, rye and barley. Robb knew the kitchens were preparing other savoury and sweet treats but those had yet to be brought out on the long trestle tables.
Despite the weather, the Great Hall was full. Messengers had been sent to Wintertown, and the hall was full to bursting with children. Villagers who had never seen the inside of the castle gawked about the banner-covered walls as Stark guards ushered them into the room. There were a few lords, like Edric Dayne and Lymond Darry, but most were smallfolk, refugees from the South. The younger boys and girls were nudged forward into a circle before the raised dais of the high table. Curious eyes from Tysha to Lady Whent watched Robb and Jon as they waited for their siblings. Several WinterTown boys brought several crates and sacks to Jon, and then took their place with the other children. The last to enter was Rickon carried in the arms of the tall wildling woman.
Robb directed his remarks toward the circle of boys and girls. "It has been six moons since many of you have come from King's Landing and the Riverlands. House Stark is pleased that you have adjusted well and worked hard for the North. And so, we wish to have a name day celebration at Winterfell."
The children gaped at Robb. "But milord, I don't know my name day." A young boy called. Urchins and orphans rarely did.
"House Stark is celebrating all of your name days. It is too hard to do it every month, so we will have one big party with presents." Jon said, opening up several large bags.
The gifts were simple - knights and dolls carved out of wood, toy animals, cauldrons, swords, and miniature boats made from wool, linen, wood, or earthenware. A few hobby horses - poles with a stuffed straw head - were shared by boys while girls admired the rattles, flutes, drums, pipes and lutes. There were presents for the more practically minded - warm scarves, sturdy hats, and fur-lined boots. These were ignored by most of the children. The bakers in the kitchens had finished the desserts and trays of honey cakes, blackberry tarts, apple crisps, and egg custards were brought out to the great hall.
"Lord Snow." A dark haired girl called out. Frances, one of the Spider's little birds, was stunted from a life on the streets of King's Landing. She would never be tall but since coming North, she had grown several inches. "May I have a glass bead for my name day gift?"
His brother opened up a crate full of hollow glass beads. The bright colors scintillated - blues to greens, reds, yellows and oranges. "One glass bead? No. That would not be fitting. You deserve a necklace, my lady."
The WinterTown crew brought out string, wire and metal clasps. Chett quickly assembled a necklace with twelve beads, striped and spiraled in many different hues. The girl blinked back tears of happiness as a serving maid fastened it around her neck.
"Milord, is this mine?" Frances asked in a small voice.
Jon chuckled. "Of course. It is a gift, not a loan."
That began a wild rush of children and quite a few adults to examine the crates of beads. The more experienced of the WinterTown crew watched over the glass, taking care to be generous but fair, as they helped craft necklaces and bracelets. The rest of the feast was a happy affair with plentiful horns of nut brown ale and brimming platters of carved roasts.
Robb surveyed the Great Hall, pleased at the good cheer in the room. Jon and Arya fed their dire wolves slabs of venisons wrapped in bacon. Rickon stuffed his face with applecakes, butter and honey to the dismay of Sansa who sipped mint tea and nibbled a lemon cake. Only Bran was ill at ease, his eyes looking far and away. Then the raven from King's Landing arrived.
"No, Jon. You can't go." Sansa cried.
"Sansa, perhaps we should wait until he finishes the letter." Robb snapped. The cheer of the day had faded as the Starks, with the exception of Rickon, had retired to the Winterfell solar. The bird had brought dark tidings from the South.
His brother looked up from the raven. "There is not much more to add. Owen's sister, Lady Leonette Tyrell, is pregnant with her first child. The babe will come in a moon's time - if she is still alive."
"Why have we not heard about this plague before?" Arya said.
"Lord Wyman wrote that sailors have fallen ill in the city but the number was not high. The Manderlys have taken precautions and kept those ships in the Outer Harbor and away from the New Castle and the Wolf's Den." Jon answered.
"But Fossoway says the plague is raging in King's Landing. Why aren't people dying in the North? Is it the cold?" Arya asked.
"It might be but no one quite knows. There have been epidemics in other seasons - the Shivers and the Fever in the winter and the Great Spring Sickness. But if I had to guess - White Harbour is a very different city than King's Landing. It is not just colder. Only fifty thousand live within the walls. King's Landing has ten times that number, and many of those are crammed in the slums. Disease breeds where there is filth. Flea Bottom was given that name for a reason. In every outbreak except the Grey Plague sixty years ago, more people died in King's Landing than in the other cities." Jon said.
"Flea Bottom is a total shithole. They must be dying in droves there." Arya said.
"The poor always suffer more than the rich. The maesters talk about how King Daeron and his grandsons died in the Great Spring Sickness but the death toll was greater among the smallfolk. They died without anyone knowing their names." Jon said.
"Can we trust the raven? You will be at the mercy of the Reach." Robb said.
"Only Owen knows of the favor. I doubt he told the Tyrells after the wedding. And Leonette is Ser Garlan's wife. We met him at Riverrun. He seems a better man than most."
"It could still be a trap. Owen and Garlan may be your allies. But what about Lord Mace and Lady Olenna? They could hand you over to the Lannisters. Lord Tywin might have spies among the Reach. And if the Lannisters capture you, they will torture you. Joffrey is a monster. He is evil and cruel. He threatened to serve Robb's head at my wedding." Sansa argued.
It was easy for a king or a crown prince to make threats at the Red Keep. Robb hoped that one day he would face Joffrey on the battlefield. "Would the Tyrells really betray Jon if he saved Garlan's wife and child? Wouldn't that violate guest right and any sense of decency?"
"The South is not the North. Look at the Freys. King's Landing is full of liars - the Queen, Joffrey, all the Lannisters. He would be surrounded by enemies. And they would give a great deal to kill or capture Jon." Sansa said.
"Owen is not my enemy. He was my good friend at the Citadel. The Tyrells are not the Freys."
"Anyone who is not us is our enemy. The Tyrells cannot be trusted. They are hungry for power. They want Margaery to be Queen. Why else would they join the Iron Throne after Renly died?"
"Every noble house wants power. Our bannermen would like to be closer to Winterfell. That does not mean the Tyrells won't protect Jon. Ser Garlan certainly will." Robb said.
"This doesn't matter. I am going South. I did not make a vow to the Tyrells. I gave my word to Owen. He helped rescue Sansa in King's Landing. For that, I owe a great debt. If he asks me to save Lady Leonette, then that's what must be done."
"Ravens get lost. Sometimes they never arrive or the letter is dropped." Sansa argued.
Jon shook his head. "No. That cannot be. I am not a nithing. I will not break my word or be branded a coward due to fear. Some promises have to be kept."
"But can you cure the plague, Jon?" Arya asked.
"I don't know. No one has before. It won't be easy."
"Bran, what do you see in your visions? Will Jon succeed?" Robb asked.
The youngest Stark in the room wavered. "I don't know. I just see Death coming for all of us. The three eyed crow speaks in riddles."
"Prophecies do not work like that. They have meaning but are never clear. We have to make decisions based on what is known." Jon said.
"But if you do not know how to treat the disease…." Robb said.
"That doesn't matter. Owen asked me to help. There is no certainty of success, but I still need to go. When you called the banners, you did not know if you would win. You did not know whether we had allies from the Vale or the Riverlands or how large the Lannister army was. But the Starks still marched South. So long as there is a chance, I have to try."
"I called the banners to save Father and our sisters." Robb said.
"This is to save a sister too - Owen's sister. If I cure her, I can help thousands of others."
"It is too dangerous. Robb, you are the Lord of Winterfell. Forbid Jon from going." Sansa said.
"Lords can give orders. That does not mean they are followed. I made a vow." Jon said.
Robb held up a hand to defuse the situation. He did not need House Stark to become divided, particularly since his power over his siblings was limited. "I am not going to order you to break your word. I would not do that. But give me a moment. I need to consider the possibilities."
"Of course, Lord Stark. But there is not much time for Leonette. Or anyone who falls sick in King's Landing. Decide quickly." With that, his brother left.
Jon crossed the courtyard, deep in thought, oblivious to the cold. He had attended a few of Archmaester Ebrose's lectures on anatomy and the workings of the human body. Ebrose, unlike many haughty scholars in the Citadel, was wise enough to admit his ignorance. The Citadel did not know much about disease. Maesters could make poultices out of mustard, nettle and bread molds. They could identify poisons, dull pains with milk of the poppy, stitch up wounds, and set broken bones. That was good enough for most things but not the plague.
To treat the plague, a different approach was needed. He could not rely on what Ebrose had already rejected as superstition and nonsense. In the thousands of years since the Citadel was founded, no maester had real success against an epidemic. Ergo, the old methods did not work. Thus, Jon had to think about this problem in a different way. He needed to take what worked before, but find new ways - to accept and reject the past.
He entered the Library Tower, only to see a black shape dart down and make a guttural sound halfway between a hiss and a meow. Balerion was no longer filthy but had grown sleek on a diet of cooked chicken, meaty bones, and whatever rodents and birds the tomcat could hunt. The beast still had a foul temper but at least had stopped trying to eat ravens in the rookery. Jon knelt down, rubbed behind the one good ear, and offered a slice of roast quail. Balerion sniffed and snatched the meat away, before following Jon up the stairs.
The library was crowded. A dozen of the Winter Town crew waited there for him, along with quite a few of the Little Birds. Most still wore or carried their presents from the morning.
"Maester, what has gone wrong?" a worried Chett asked.
"Why do you think that? Did one of you read the raven that came today?"
"No, milord. We would never do that. We could tell from your brother's face that there wuz bad news. And then your sisters looked upset." Denys said.
"And after the raven, all the Starks went to the solar. We posted a few boys to see when you would leave and where you were going." Gerry said.
Jon smiled, in spite of his concerns. He could hardly blame the WinterTown crew for being clever. "Something has happened in King's Landing. Something quite serious."
"What can we do?" Chett said.
Jon looked around the room. There were a few marks on the shelves and scrolls from the fire set by the footpad who failed to kill Bran. The books were intact, with a few singed leaves. The Winterfell library was no match for the enormous vaults of the Citadel but there was still a great deal of knowledge stored here. "How many of you can read?"
Most of the hands were raised, although a few were tentative.
"Good. There are over a hundred books in this room. I want them all to be read. Skim every page for mentions of plague and pestilence. Descriptions of the symptoms, how long it lasted, how many days for people to die, where it came from."
"And what should we do with the information?" Gerry asked.
"Write it down or tell me which pages. Give me everything you can find. Today, if possible."
The children broke off into groups of twos and threes as Chett and the older boys took down the books and sorted them into piles. Jon took a quill and a sheet of parchment into Luwin's study. He needed a quiet place to think.
As the skin on the feet, fingers and nose turned black, the boy did not complain. Podrick Payne was a stumble tongue but a better squire than Tyrion had deserved. Far braver, too. In his last days, Podrick suffered fevers, chills and aches but the boy did not cry. He only asked that his bones be brought back to the Westerlands. Tyrion agreed, knowing that was impossible while the plague raged in King's Landing. Pod died on the third morning.
Tyrion was not given to sentiment. His father taught them that servants were tools to be used and discarded when needed. But the boy, despite shyness and stuttering, had rendered good service. Pod's father died in the Greyjoy Rebellion. His mother ran away with a landed knight. The boy was taken in as a squire, and that relative, Ser Cedric Payne, had been killed in the Riverlands. Then Pod joined a fat hedge knight, who was hanged for stealing a ham. That was when Lord Tywin had given Tyrion the boy as a squire. Some would say the gods were cruel. But it was not the gods that killed Podrick.
"Littlefinger is to blame for this."
"Baelish? How could he give Pod the plague?" Bronn asked.
Tyrion stopped pacing. "We went to the Royal Mint and asked for a sample of the new silver stags. Pod counted the coins when they came."
"So?"
"The silver stags were also sent to the envoy from Braavos. Noho Dimittis died yesterday of the plague."
"That doesn't prove anything. Lots of people are dying in King's Landing. There are so many dead septons and septas that no one is praying to the Faith. The plazas and gardens near the Great Sept are full of corpses. There is no room to even bury the dead." Bronn said.
"I am sure it is Baelish." Tyrion had not shared Littlefinger's plot to remove Joffrey's enemies. If it came out that the king considered using the plague as a weapon, the entire city might revolt. No one would believe that the Lannisters had rejected the idea. The Faith would be beyond angry. And he shuddered at the reaction of the Hightowers and the Reachmen.
"Wait a moment." Bronn said indignantly. "You just gave me silver stags to buy wine."
"Podrick cleaned the coins. And I had the coins washed before they were weighed." Tyrion was surprised that the stags were pure silver. Did Baelish find out about his father's suspicions? Or was it a ploy to throw the Iron Bank off the trail?
"But if the coins carried the plague…"
"Oh, stop whining. I threw a stag two days ago to the balding harper at the winesink. Symon Fat Tongue or whatever his name is. He was still alive and singing his wretched songs last night." Tyrion snapped. That also meant that there was no physical proof. The poison that caused the plague must have washed off. Tyrion knew that Baelish did not give a fig about a squire. The coins had been sent to kill him.
"Tyrion." His brother hurried through the door. "You need to come. Alone."
Lord Tywin rested upon a large bed, covered in gold and crimson blankets. His eyes were closed and his breathing was shallow but steady. There were only a few points of swelling around the neck, and the lumps were smaller than Lancel's. Tyrion looked carefully about the hands and feet. There was no blackening of skin in the fingers and toes.
The bedroom was in a small wing of Maegor's Holdfast, off the Queen's Ballroom. The shades were drawn over the closed windows, hiding the inhabitants of the room from any watchers in the Red Keep. Guards and white cloaks stood outside while most of the family gathered in the antechamber. Joffrey was near the door. Cersei, Tyrion and Jaime stood closest to their father. Genna and Kevan watched over an upset Tommen.
"If you don't save him, your head will decorate a spike on Traitor's Walk." His sister ranted.
"Threats to the maester will not make your father recover." Aunt Genna said.
Well said. "What is your name?" Tyrion asked.
The maester, a gray haired man with a short beard, turned away from the bed. "Beldon, my lord. My grandfather was also Beldon. He served as maester at Casterly Rock for Lord Tytos."
"What happened to my father? When did he fall ill?"
"Two days ago, Lord Tywin complained of headache and fever. He had soreness in his arms. I made an ointment of Kings Copper and pennyroyal. I gave him dreamwine for the pain and coriander for the fever. His temperature is better now."
"What about the plague, you fool?" Cersei said.
"Lord Tywin has the plague but he will not die if the swelling does not spread. His condition is better than most, but no one knows whether a man will recover. A few do if their blood does not turn sick." The maester said.
His squire deteriorated quickly after the fingers became black. Was there any way to stop that? Tyrion found the arm soreness curious as well. Early in the ordeal, Podrick said that his right hand throbbed in pain. That had alerted Tyrion to the silver coins.
"Your grace, I came as soon as I heard." A slender short man bowed to Joffrey.
"And how did you hear, Baelish?" Tyrion asked.
"His grace has been generous to grant me quarters in the Holdfast. The servants told me that the Lord Hand had taken to his bed."
"My grandfather has fallen ill from the plague." Joffrey said.
"A great loss to the Iron Throne, your grace. But he will surely recover."
"Of course. Lord Tywin was not meant to die in bed like a smallfolk stricken with the plague. Great men do not pass away like this." Cersei had not paid much attention to history.
"I have bought medicine." Littlefinger held out several silver gray pills. "This will rid Lord Tywin of the bad humours."
Joffrey's eyes lit up. "Thank you, Baelish. Maester, give these pills to my grandfather."
"But your grace. I have already purged him with pepper potions." Beldon said.
""Are you disobeying your king?' Joffrey asked, his voice raising in pitch to a near screech.
"Of course not." Tyrion said smoothly. "Maester Beldon only means that he will administer the pills later, after Father has rested. After all, one must wait for the humours to return before voiding them again." Joffrey grunted his agreement. His nephew was never quick on his feet, unless he was torturing small animals. "Lord Baelish, I received a shipment of silver stags from the Mint, and then my squire died of the plague."
"Silver stags? I know nothing about that. But I am sorry to hear about your squire. Every death is a tragedy. Did you consult my plague doctors? Perhaps they could have saved the poor boy."
"The plague is raging in King's Landing. What have your doctors done, besides take silver and gold for their cures?" Tyrion replied.
"Yes, they have been overwhelmed. Many have given their lives, fighting the plague. I mourn their loss and hope that their sacrifice will be remembered." Littlefinger said piously.
Tyrion had known many liars in his life. Baelish was one of the best. The former Master of Coin had a gift for worming out of trouble by claiming to be friendly and helpful. With friends like Baelish, you did not need enemies to stab you in the back.
"Lord Baelish, I have not rewarded you for your aid. An appointment to the Small Council is in order." Joffrey said.
"Small Council? You cannot appoint a member of the Small Council without approval of the Hand." Tyrion said.
"The Hand is indisposed." Joffrey shouted back.
Baelish held up his arms in a gesture of peace. "Your grace, there is no need for any trouble. I am happy to serve the king in any way possible, whether in the Small Council, or as Lord of the Vale, or privy counselor. I am at your command."
Joffrey left the chamber, with a sullen glare. Tyrion ignored that look, waiting for everyone to depart to speak to the maester alone.
"Beldon. Throw away the pills. Do not treat Lord Tywin with any medicine that you have not made with your own hands. I do not trust Baelish or his bizarre doctors."
"But my lord, the king's orders…"
"Are you loyal to House Lannister?" The maester gave a brief nod. "Then keep my father alive."
Tyrion stepped into the hall. He would ask Jaime to reinforce the guards and Aunt Genna to watch over things. Her loyalty to Tywin was clear. His father's guards were Westermen, sworn to Casterly Rock. He was not certain whether the pills were poison but the Baelish would regret sending the silver stags. A Lannister always paid his debts. Besides, if anyone killed his father, it would be Tyrion, not some smarmy schemer from the Vale.
Ser Rodrik Cassell escorted the old lady to the solar. Robb nodded and the master at arms bowed, before returning to the courtyard. Ser Rodrik buried his grief over his nephew Jory's death by dedicating himself to training a new generation of Stark guardsmen. Robb poured a goblet of wine for Lady Whent.
"Thank you, Lord Robb. I am grateful for your hospitality and that my servants have found positions in Winterfell. My family is much obliged too."
"No more than what was deserved. I did not know you brought family North."
"My great niece, Wynafrei. She was married to Danwell Frey before Snow burned him alive. And now she is wed to Ser Tollett and happily settled along the Weeping Water."
There were a lot of Frey widows in the North. Robb was thankful that Sansa was in charge of their marriages. "Lady Whent, I have something to ask. Your house had ties to the crown and many other families in the Riverlands and Crownlands."
"We did once, before the Rebellion. My husband declared for Prince Rhaegar. My four sons died in the War, and Lord Walter died of grief. House Whent had many friends when we were strong but few after Robert became king."
"I am sorry for that, my lady."
The old woman shrugged. "Don't be. It is a common enough story after the Rebellion. The harpers love to sing songs about the victors. But there are losers in every war."
"I want to ask about House Tyrell. When you were at Harrenhal, did you encounter them? Are they a family to be trusted?" Robb said.
"The Tyrells? Lord Mace is a fool. I saw him at Harrenhal at the great tourney. He was the new lord of the roses. I don't remember who knocked him off his horse."
"The tourney in the year of the false spring? That was where Rhaegar Targaryen named my aunt Lyanna the queen of love and beauty. Before he raped her…" Robb muttered.
"I beg pardon, my lord, but Prince Rhaegar never raped Lady Lyanna. My cousin, Ser Oswell, was the prince's companion. Oswell never knew a better man. Rhaegar made two errors. He did not want to be a kinslayer. Rhaegar should have killed his father, Aerys. And his second mistake was to trust others. Mace Tyrell wasted the manpower of the Reach feasting at Storm's End. The Martells never sent enough men. Rhaegar would have been a great king, far better than the drunk." The old lady said.
"But Rhaegar fought for Aerys. He led the king's armies in the Rebellion."
"Rhaegar knew his father was mad. The tourney was in the name of House Whent but it was the prince who provided the funds. He wanted to sound out the great lords on overthrowing Aerys. Somehow Lord Varys found out and the king came to Harrenhal. All of our lives would change had Rhaegar succeeded. Your aunt would be alive, and my sons."
"Did the Tyrells betray the Targaryens? The Lannisters did."
"Lord Tywin sacked King's Landing only after Rhaegar died. No, the Tyrells never betrayed the Iron Throne. The Lannisters are capable but not to be trusted. The Tyrells are loyal idiots. If Mace Tyrell marched his army into the riverlands, Robert would have died at the Trident."
"What about the other Tyrells? The Queen of Thorns seems cunning." Robb said, trying to digest Lady Whent's clear dislike for Highgarden.
"She has a sharp tongue. She says clever things. But what has Lady Olenna done that merits any great praise?"
"After Renly died, the Tyrells agreed to an alliance so that Margaery would become queen. That might be Lady Olenna's work."
"Your father also betrothed Sansa to Joffrey, so that a Stark would become queen. How did that work out?" The old lady's face softened a bit. "I am sorry, Lord Stark. Ladies grow querulous with old age. I have not forgiven the Tyrells for their foolishness in the War. But they are not evil or treacherous. Just dolts. Or at least Lord Mace is."
Robb agreed with Lady Whent's thoughts. The Reach had many swords but the leadership was unimpressive. He saw that first hand at Bitterbridge and Redgrass Field. His father blundered badly when he went South. Ned Stark trusted the wrong people and that had a very high cost. Stark guards were slaughtered in King's Landing. Sansa was taken prisoner by the Lannisters and Arya barely escaped with her life. Father had lost his freedom and his head. Robb knew his brother would go South. He wondered how he could help Jon not make the same mistakes.
The Dornish were famous for their hot blood. Certainly the princess had more than enough to spare for her entire family. Arianne had not bothered to wait for Prince Doran's men. She had assembled all the guards and then summoned knights from nearby holdfasts. With her small force, Arianne set off on horse with Elia and Obella Sand to confront the priests. Ser Manfrey had kept Trystane in Sunspear. The short trip took several days, given the train of supply wagons carrying food, siege weapons, and even a large and heavy battering ram.
"Princess, I think you should stay behind." Ser Arys was speaking not to Arianne, who could certainly have used the words of caution but to Myrcella, cantering along on a white mare.
"No, Ser. I want to learn more about these priests. Besides, I have two white cloaks at my side." She smiled at Ser Arys Oakheart and Ser Balon Swann. The two knights had not wanted her to travel to Planky Town but her wishes carried the day. One day, her children might rule this land. She needed to learn everything she could about Dorne.
The small stone citadel came into view. It was more of a watchtower than a castle, designed to ward off pirates who sailed the Summer Seas. Even before the Martell guards could halt, the portcullis was raised. The castellan rode out, dismounted and knelt in the red sand.
"Ser Myles. Why have you disobeyed your sworn house?" Arianne said, mounted on her horse.
"Your grace, we have nothing to do with the revolt. But we cannot attack either. To shed the blood of the priests - it would be abject."
"Have the priests arrested then. I will not allow them to preach treason."
The castellan rose, and more mounted soldiers sallied forth from the citadel. "My men follow House Martell. But it would be better for you to take our heads than seize the priests."
They rode to the outskirts of the city. Planky Town was like nothing Myrcella had ever seen. There were no streets but a sprawling hodgepodge of small and large ships connected by long planks and lashed together with hempen rope. Painted pole boats, hulking barges and merchant vessels of all sizes formed the houses, halls and shops. Ferries and bridges ran from the shores of the river to the settlement.
The floating city was remarkable, but even more so were the vast array of rafts. Beyond Planky Town, an armada of small boats could be seen on the murky waters of the Greenblood, rafts and shallow pole boats that could only hold a family or two. The line of tiny vessels stretched into the horizon - humble boats with shallow bottoms and wide beams, painted in bright colors and decorated with carvings of sea creatures: turtles, crabs and serpents. On the rafts, hundreds and hundreds of people with olive skin and dark hair stood silent as they poled down the river. They were waiting for something, Myrcella realized. But what could it be? And why would they have assembled here, at Planky Town, despite the plague?
They made their way onto the wood bridge, wide enough for wagons to pass. A phalanx of Martell spearmen with interlocking round shields walked ahead, parting the crowd gently. The Princess of Dorne and her cousins were ringed by half a dozen knights, including Daemon Sand, Arianne's sworn shield. Myrcella followed with the two Kingsguard, watching carefully for any trouble. Her knights did not need to worry. At King's Landing, the smallfolk looked upon the royal family with awe and fear. But on the bridge, the crowd barely reacted.
A swarthy man with a jade stud in one ear approached the group. "Your Grace, you should not have come."
"Let me through, Garin. How could you betray me?" Arianne cried.
"I am an Orphan of the Greenblood. When the priests of the Mother call, we must answer. Just as the Rhoynar have always done." the dark skinned man said.
Myrcella crept up on the end of the bridge. A short leap over the river away, on a nondescript boat, men and women knelt in an outward facing circle, hands in prayer. They were dressed plainly, without vestments or seven colored crystals. An older woman stood, the dark eyes on her dark face sharp. In her withered hands, she carried a sphere of water. No drop fell.
"You are not wanted here. Begone." The priestess said.
Arianne stepped forth, her fury obvious to all. "I am the princess of Dorne. By gathering in Planky Town in such numbers, you endanger us all. The plague…."
The old woman looked at the royals with scorn. "Mother Rhoyne will protect us."
"This is the Greenblood, old woman. The Rhoyne is in Essos."
"You forget yourself. We belong to Mother Rhoyne, whose waters nourished us from the dawn of days. We stood proud, even in the face of dragons." The priestess said.
"House Martell led you against the dragons. Meria Martell, Lady of Sunspear, stood against Aegon the Conqueror and kept Dorne free." Arianne replied.
"You have forgotten, Princess. The troubles began long before the Targaryens. Nymeria fled Essos. It was Prince Garin who stood against Valyria. It was Prince Garin who defended his people against the dragons. It was Prince Garin that invoked the magic of the Royne."
Myrcella recalled the book on the Rhoynish Wars. Garin the Great assembled a mighty host to oppose the Valyrian colonies. He won victories, even against three dragons, but at Volantis, the Valyrian Freehold showed their true strength. The dragonlords crushed Garin's army, captured the prince, destroyed the cities, and enslaved the Rhoynar. Only Princess Nymeria escaped, fleeing Essos in the ten thousand ships, and the last remnants of a great people.
"Prince Garin was brave but failed. He fought a war that could not be won. My ancestor, Nymeria, saved us. She saved you."
"You know nothing. Nothing about Mother Rhoyne. Nothing about Prince Garin. The past is never dead. It is not even past. Go play your little games, princess, against the lions, the stags, and the wolves. They do not matter. The dragon will come to the Rhoyne. The orphans of the Greenblood will be orphans no more. And House Martell will not rule the Rhoynar."
Arianne stormed off with her cousins, and Myrcella feared that the princess would do something foolish, like order an attack. Myrcella intercepted the Dornish women. "Your grace, shouldn't you ask the priestess more questions? What if she is making a true prophecy?"
Elia Sand snarled. "Piss on her prophecies. The line of Nymeria has ruled the Rhoynar for a thousand years."
"Nine hundred ninety nine. House Martell will not reach a thousand. Everything ends."
The wind began to blow more fiercely and the bridge trembled. Waves pounded the shore, and the boats of Planky Town bobbed up and down against the tide. The soldiers hesitated. Myrcella did not. She approached the priests. "Good lady, what will happen to House Martell?"
The old priestess stared at her. "You are the lion girl."
"I am Princess Myrcella Baratheon, betrothed to Trystane Martell."
"You are no princess but a lion girl. At least you have the courage to ask. A thousand years ago, the dragon lords of Valyria in their great wroth captured Garin and hung him in a cage of gold. They mocked him and killed his people. Garin called on Mother Rhoyne and that night, the waters rose, and drowned the Valyrian invaders."
"The waters also drowned Chroyane. What the Valyrians started, Garin's curse finished." Elia pointed out. "In the Sorrows, there are only ruined cities, haunted by stone men."
"But what does this have to do with Dorne and House Martell?" Myrcella asked.
"When our need is greatest, Prince Garin will come to fight for the Rhoynar."
"How?" Myrcella asked. "He died a thousand years ago."
"Lion Girl, Prince Garin never died. For a millenium, he was tormented by mists and fog, his flesh turned to stone and his lips cold as ice. Is not a thousand years enough? That is how long Garin has waited in the Sorrows and how long Mother Rhoyne has waited for her children. She will call us home soon."
The boy approached nervously, and then opened the tattered scroll. He gained more confidence as quick fingers pointed out to Jon the relevant entry in Journals by Nysseos Qoheris. After the Doom, Valyrian forces fleeing west had spread the plague to Volantis, and the pestilence had killed thousands and done immense damage to maritime trade with the East. Qoheris had written about the symptoms: fever, diarrhea, and pustular eruptions on the skin. More interesting was that these signs often took over a week to occur.
"Good work, Wex." Jon said.
Wex Pyke had been captured raiding the Stony Shore. The brown haired boy with a feral face and pointed nose looked older than his twelve name days. Chett discovered that the Ironborn was not unintelligent, only mute. With Jon's permission, the former prisoner had been welcomed into the ranks of the WinterTown boys, and taught how to read and write. The boy learned quickly, and was adept at numbers.
"What would you like as a reward?"
The boy quickly found a book, placed in the pile for those with no reference to plagues or disease. He opened the pages to an engraving of a ship with a long narrow hull, a sharp bow which cut through the waves rather than riding atop, and three raking masts with large sails. When fully rigged and riding a tradewind, this vessel was the fastest on the sea.
Jon thought fondly of his distant relative that designed, built and captained the ship. "The Sea Snake. Corlys Velaryon went to Essos, Qarth, Leng, Yi Ti and back. This must be the Nine Voyages. Do you want to sail that far as well?" Wex grinned back, a smile on his wide mouth. "Someday, the Northern fleet will go to the ends of the world to trade whiskey, cloth and glass for silk and spices. Perhaps you will navigate one of those ships."
"I know you are there, Arya." Jon called out, eyes still lowered as he scribbled away.
His sister came out of the shadows, a scowl on her long face. "How did you know?"
"I didn't. Balerion did." Jon patted the tomcat who stared at Arya insolently. "He can hear as well as Ghost can smell."
"Robb sent me to get you."
Jon nodded, and then packed away sheets of paper into a small satchel along with quills, glass and bundles of herbs. With a hiss, Balerion jumped into the bag. Jon shrugged and looped the satchel over his right shoulder, the black tomcat's torn ear peeking out of the top.
"Did you find anything in the books?" Arya asked.
"Some ideas but I will not know if they have any value until we go South."
"We?"
"Of course. I doubt I could leave you behind." Jon ruffled his sister's hair fondly.
"Damn right." Arya smiled.
The guards let them into the solar. Robb was there alone, a frown on his solemn face. He waited until his siblings sat down.
"I asked Bran to come, but he said he already saw what would happen. But he won't tell me. I also asked Sansa to come but she is too upset. She feels guilty. If you die in the South, she believes it will be her fault." Robb said.
"It is no one's fault, and certainly not hers. It is my choice. And I will not break my word."
"I will not stop you, Jon. But I worry about the Tyrells. Ser Garlan may be honorable but I do not trust the rest of the family. Are you certain they can protect you from the Lannisters?"
"No one is certain of anything, Robb. I do not know if I can cure the plague or if a spy will betray me to Lord Tywin. My ship could sink or I might catch the disease and die. It would be safer to stay at Winterfell and rebuild the North. It would be easier if the pack stayed together. But we do not choose our trials in life. We only choose how we face such things." Jon said.
"Be careful, Jon. Take Sandor Clegane and Brienne of Tarth." Robb said.
"The Hound and Brienne? The Lannisters won't forget the last time those two were in the city. We need stealth as well. I will go South to watch Jon's back. I am his squire." Arya said.
"I plan to bring Ghost and Nymeria. Dire wolves make better guards than any men." Jon said.
"Dire wolves will stand out more than two very tall knights in King's Landing." Robb said.
"We are not going to King's Landing. We will sail to Maidenpool. It has a busy harbor, and the town is behind walls. There are three roads out and it is two hundred fifty miles away from King's Landing in the riverlands."
"House Mooton rules Maidenpool. Lord William betrayed us to the Lannisters." Robb said.
"Ser Garlan will deal with Lord Mooton as a show of faith for our trip South. I will send ravens to Owen and Lord Wyman. Arya and I sail from White Harbour in five days' time."
Author's Notes
Owen's request is from Chapter 29 in Maester Wolf. Jon makes that promise before Arya and Robb to secure his help in King's Landing.
"The healers of the Citadel are the best in the Seven Kingdoms." Samwell laments to Gilly in Feast for Crows. This is after Aemon Targaryen dies. The implication is that if Aemon was alive to guide Daenerys, things might have been different.
The Breath of Life is based on ginseng, which was highly desired by the Chinese Emperors. In fact, the first exports from the US to China may have been wild ginseng. Wild Ginseng, uncultivated and unspoiled by fertilizers or herbicide, can cost thousands per pound.
The techniques that the North uses to make glass - Millefiori, Sommerso, Filigrana, beads - were all known to Murano craftsmen by the 16th century. In 1291, Venice moved all their glassmakers to the island of Murano, a mile away, for purposes of secrecy and safety. Giving glass colors is just material science - cobalt yields blue, gold yields red, iron green, manganese pink, etc.
Venice dominated the production of hollow glass beads and a skilled craftsman could make over a thousand beads a day. Murano literally produced hundreds of tons of beads a year. Glass beads have a bad rap because of the affiliation with the African slave trade, but it is really remarkable how far and wide beads travelled. Archaeologists have discovered glass beads in burial sites in Alaska, which they believe went to Eurasia and over the Bering Straits.
The poor always suffered more than the rich. Sadly that was true in COVID, and also in every epidemic. The historical accounts focused on the elites - merchants and nobles. They certainly died but many could hide away or run to the country. The rich also had better nutrition. The cities were ravaged.
"Anyone who isn't us is our enemy." Shades of Sansa as Littlefinger 2.0. I get what GRRM wants to do. He writes for adults and shows that trauma transforms the individual. Arya Stark to cold blooded killer, Bran to crazy three eyed bird man, Egg to Aegon. So for Sansa to become manipulative isn't a shock. The problem is that it was very poorly done on the TV show.
Nithing is a Viking/German word for loss of honor due to cowardice. A nithing is treated with scorn as a weakling and an oathbreaker. As I understand it, the term is so derogatory that a warrior would be expected to kill the accuser to erase the shame.
The Black Death weakened the Catholic Church greatly in history. The plague was viewed as punishment from God. But when priests and bishops could do nothing about the epidemic, their reputation and credibility suffered. Nobles and peasants saw that priests were just men - either dying of exposure or running away in fear. The death toll may also have broken the power of local lords, and led to the rise of powerful kings who had no desire to follow the Pope.
Tyrion ordered Bronn kill Symon Silver Tongue in a Storm of Swords. Symon tried to blackmail Tyrion with a song about Tysha so he could sing at the Purple Wedding.
The only chapter set in Planky Town is the POV Quentyn Martell in Dance of Dragons, The Merchant's Men. That whole arc takes forever and has no real reason - except to set Dorne against Daenerys for Quentyn's death. and enable fake Aegon to win. It is a shame. Planky Town reminds me of some cool fantasy settings. The ships would get destroyed in a real storm, although maybe they unlash the ropes and sail back again after the storm!
Garin is one of Arianne's companions during the ill planned and poorly executed attempt to raise the banners for Myrcella. In the book, they talk about how Garin is Arianne's milk brother (his mother was Arianne's wetnurse) but I couldn't fit that in. Note also that Edric Dayne also talks about being Jon Snow's milk brother. It is a very odd sort of relation, in my opinion.
The Rhoynar are noted healers and midwives. Whether they can actually handle the plague is a very different matter.
"The past is never dead. It is not even past." is a quote from Falkner in Death of a Nun.
Wroth is an archaic word for intense anger. The King of Mummers, Izembaro, plays Prince Garin in Wroth of the Dragonlords.
Wex is Theon Greyjoy's mute squire. Theon smacks him around a bit, saying things like grow a tongue. Wex survives the Sack of Winterfell, by hiding at the top of the heart tree. Somehow he knows that Rickon and Osha are going to Skagos and tells the Manderlys that. He is part of the Davos going to rescue Rickon subplot in the books.
The Sea Snake is based on the Cutty Sark, one of the last tea clipper ships (built in 1869) that went to China. It is very fast with the wind. I like the idea of Corlys Velaryon with a beautiful ship.
The trip from White Harbour to Maidenpool is over 1000 nautical miles. The logistics are tricky. A ship using sails can do three to five knots in the middle ages. That would mean 100 nautical miles a day would be the best outcome. Longships were much faster but certainly could not maintain max speed. Assume the trip from Winterfell to Maidenpool will take two weeks. Garlan has to bring Lady Leonette north. Assume he gets 40 miles a day. He will get there in a week.
Of course, these aren't exact numbers. The Pony Express could cover 2500 miles in ten days. That was with an average speed of 10 miles per hour, a new rider every 8 hours, and a rider probably going through 5 horses in his trip. The Mongol postal system (messengers with stations to get fresh horses) could do 150 miles a day. The Cutty Sark, a clipper designed for speed, clocked 20 knots, and 400 nautical miles in a day. In a race in 1866, three ships carrying tea went from China to England, 14000 miles, in 99 days.